


Theseus's Ship

by Gazyrlezon



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: (who is not actually present), Gen, this follows the triad in S3E15 Pretense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-18 18:57:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gazyrlezon/pseuds/Gazyrlezon
Summary: “It’s like he’s dead. You told me once, about a cart, asked me if it was still the same if all its parts would be replaced. It feels like that. Like … so much has changed in me, I’m not Skaara anymore.”“Skaara,” he said, looking straight into the boy’s eyes, “you’re still Skaara. You’re stillyou.And I think—perhaps it’ll take a while, but—eventually you’ll have that glint in your eye again when you discover something new.”Essentially, after he's freed of Klorel, Skaara has an identity crisis.





	Theseus's Ship

“Do you have a lighter?” The question came almost as soon as Daniel had come in. The room was scarcely furnished: a bed, a table bearing some simple food, white and shiny walls. Tollan science’s mad efficiency had left it clean and functional, perfection molded into a hospital room’s shape. Skaara, still a little pale and shaky, sat on the bed. His hair was tangled up like Daniel’d never seen it, and he was entirely naked—maybe Tollan doctors, so intimately familiar with the inner workings of the human body, had forgotten that their society still demanded clothes. 

“What?” 

Daniel had not been prepared for the question. Maybe he’d been watching too much TV, but he’d expected Skaara to be lying down, still quiet and slow after regaining consciousness—they’d set both him and Klorel to sleep, to prevent any last-minute sabotage of the host’s body while they transported them to the Tok’ra and extracted the parasite. Skaara had been unconscious through all of it; he’d have had every right to still be tired. But instead he seemed as alert as he’d ever been, though when he looked up to see Daniel walking into his room a shadow of confusion hushed across his face. 

“Oh—I’d thought … ” for a moment he seemed lost. _He is still weak,_ the doctor had said. But after three years of torture, did one not have the right to be confused? 

“You expected Jack?” 

The boy gave a nod. Walking farther into the room Daniel could see a pile of clothes pushed far into a back corner, finery of gold and brown and gray, along with bracelets and amulets. A garb fit for a king. No. Fit for a god. The clothes which Skaara had worn earlier—or rather those which the parasite had _made_ him wear. 

Should Daniel tell him that they’d debated who should come to see Skaara first, he or Jack? Before he could decide Skaara ran towards him, embraced him, hugged him, kissed him—and then Daniel was doing the same, was holding Skaara close, wrapping the boy up in his arms as if that could make it all undone. And now, finally, he allowed himself to feel the joy, the happiness, the elation—here they were! So long they’d thought that all was lost, but here he was, holding Skaara’s still-frail body tight! Here was that boy of unmatched bravery who’d fought every day for his way back, who’d never slipped away or given up, who had after three years of pain stomached sitting and discussing his right to his own body during the triad and who had _won_ ; here at last was the final proof that whatever the parasites may say, they could not crush even one boy’s resistance. Here was proof that goa’uld hosts did not die, here was proof that the vermin really could be removed and banished! 

There were tears in Daniel’s eyes, and he could hear Skaara crying, too. 

“I have missed you.” Was it Skaara or Daniel who said it first, in English or in the Abydonian’s old Egyptian? 

With both hands slung around Skaara’s exposed back Daniel could feel how weak he really was, how awkwardly the muscles moved, so unused to their long-forgotten freedom. Skaara was not thin—the false gods fed their bodies well—but he was still frail; he shivered, but not from any cold—the room was as warm as Abydonian summer—but from ineptness, from amazement, from still-lingering confusion and from fear; Skaara clung to Daniel as much for comfort as to simply stay upright. 

Daniel carefully brought them back towards the bed so Skaara could sit down again. Even there he still looked weak and strained; Daniel sat down next to him and put an arm around his old friend’s shoulders to steady him. 

Then for a long time they just sat, wrapped up in the comfort of knowing that the other was so close. Intellectually, somewhere in Daniel’s science-trained brain those areas of his thoughts which could never stop to analyze he realized that maybe this ought to feel weird—him a man of thirty-five, fully clothed in his SG-team’s off-world uniform, pressed against younger Skaara’s naked skin—but that was far away. In either case, this was not the first time Daniel had seen the boy like this; on Abydos, where everyone huddled close together in houses that pressed up against each other to protect from each night’s cold and each month’s sandstorm, privacy was often a foreign concept. 

Finally, because he knew he had to eventually say something but was unwilling to mention anything about what had happened in the past three years, Danial searched through his pockets until he’d found his lighter. He had seldom used it—he did not smoke—but it’d come with the equipment for the SG teams, one more piece of simple tech which might help him survive out in this hostile universe, and it worked well: if one set the gas just right, it could produce a bright and roaring flame in blue, like some miniature version of a Bunsen burner. 

Skaara took it eagerly, looked at it, and smiled. Daniel hoped that it made him remember that other lighter which O’Neill had given him so long ago, Skaara’s first introduction to a world which did not depend on Ra. Maybe this one could be his first introduction to a world without Klorel. 

His hands still shook a bit, but after some fiddling, some trial and error, Skaara held a bright and darting flame. For a moment the boy stared into it, fascinated; then he slowly brought it down towards his other hand, grasped it tight with both, and then— 

Daniel realized it too late; he could only watch in horror as Skaara put one finger into the burning fire. Then the boy cried out, Daniel knocked the lighter from his hands, and suddenly it was all over. Quiet sobs rocked Skaara’s body, and Daniel held him closer as he cried. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against Daniel’s chest, “ … but I needed to know if … if I’d feel something, if I actually could do it or if … or if _He_ would stop me …” 

Between sniffs and sobs Skaara half-collapsed onto Daniel, then between tears crawled closer until his head was resting in Daniel’s lap. One of Daniel’s hands had slipped down Skaara’s side; he quickly moved it back up and let it crawl into Skaara’s still-unbraided hair. Then he held him, helplessly, while Skaara cried three years’ worth of tears out. 

The boy, or course, was too old to really snuggle into his lap like a child would’ve done, but while gentler sobs still rocked his body Daniel was still reminded of himself when he’d been small, of when he’d crawled into his own father’s lap to hide from that big scary world outside where other kids would mock him for his glasses, his interest in history, his books. His books? No … it could not have been his books, not yet; his parents had died too soon, run over by a car … but Daniel could remember it like that, remember how he’d felt sure that this close to his father he’d be safe forever. Skaara was too old for that, of course, had seen too much; he could never think Daniel would be able to protect him … but for the moment, at least, they could pretend. Daniel took one hand and ruffled the boy’s hair. _You’re safe now. No need to worry anymore_ _…_

Except that would be a lie; and if right now Skaara had a right to anything, then that the shadowplay would finally be done. Daniel would not add any more. _Come back_ _to this world!_ he thought, _it cannot be easy._ But he admired him, too. Had it been Daniel in his place … he could not say how he would have reacted, but when he’d seen Skaara take the lighter Daniel had, for a moment, thought the boy’d considered suicide. Now what did that say of Daniel himself, of how he himself thought? 

Finally Skaara found the strength to sit. The lighter was still in his hand. With a flick he had it open, and then there was the flame again, roaring, burning, hungry for more. Daniel tensed, determined to be fast enough this time. Pressed close as they were, Skaara must’ve felt him. 

“I won’t do it another time,” he said. 

It was hard for Daniel to take Skaara at his word, but he had to—but he knew he had to allow Skaara that luxury of decision-making which had for so long been withheld from him. He could not want to spoil the first few moments of the boy’s re-found freedom. 

Skaara let the flame burn a little longer; he stared into it, fascinated. Then suddenly he wrestled free enough of Daniel’s arm to turn around and throw the lighter away into the corner. 

Whoof. Deep breath, Daniel. Relax. All good. Danger gone. 

Wait. In that corner were— 

Daniel sprang up. Sure enough, there were Skaara’s old clothes quickly catching fire, consumed by bright and dancing flames. Fire! What should he do now, with fire here? Try to stamp it out? Sound an alarm, wait for a fire brigade? What should he do with Skaara, who could barely walk? Daniel was no military; would he have the strength to carry the boy out the building? Skaara— 

Skaara was sitting there, calmly, as if nothing in the world was amiss, staring solemnly into the flames. If anything had scared him then that thing had been Daniel’s reaction. And even as Daniel was still scared he understood why: the problem was solving itself. Around the fire the room’s nondescript white walls split up into countless tiny rectangles which opened up like a hundred little doors to admit even smaller machinery so it could strive to extinguish the threat. Earth’s fire brigades might use water for the task, but Tollana’s technology was not so crude; instead these hundreds of tiny arms built a quick air-tight box around the flames and flooded it with carbon dioxide until the reaction ran out of reactants and therefore stopped. Then it pumped all remaining gases out and refilled it with normal breathing air. 

Daniel stared, incredulous, as at last the box cracked open and retracted itself into the walls from which it had sprung. The fire was gone. The clothes were, apart from some burnt-out patches, almost undamaged. His lighter lay on top; he went and picked it up. It was still warm from the fire, but a quick check confirmed it continued to work perfectly. 

He turned to Skaara. 

“You knew.” The words were an observation, not a question. “You knew that this would happen.” 

The boy, shaky, pale, still weak but calm as ever, shrugged. “I knew _something_ would happen. Maybe not this precisely, but … something. I had to dispose of them, and I knew the Tollans would only construct a patient’s room where fire could not be a problem.” 

“Not a _problem!? Not_ a …” Daniel trailed off when he saw Skaara flinch. Had he been shouting? He’d not meant to scare Skaara further; in truth, he wasn’t even really angry. More … incredulous. Even if time had stopped five minutes ago; even if Daniel had been given countless centuries to carefully figure out each possible course of events beforehand—the idea of simply assuming there’d be something to stop a fire and then exploit that would never have occurred to him. 

He had to sit back down. 

“I’m sorry,” he told Skaara. “It’s just … I remember how, years ago, you were always amazed at Jack’s lighter. You kept looking at it like it was a miracle, the most wondrous thing there was; I can still see the glint in your eyes as you watched that little flame, and …” _and I wanted to give that back to you. I wanted to show you how much wonder this world_ _still holds for us._

“I told you. At the triad. I fought Him every day, but I listened to Him, too, and learned from Him.” No need to specify who _Him_ referred to. “And …” for a moment Skaara’s mouth worked silently, trying in vain to express some unknowably important thought with the much too-simple tools of language. “I don’t think I’m him anymore,” he said at last. “The boy you still think of when you see me, the one who looked in wonder at that tiny flame … it’s …” 

Skaara had stopped crying now; instead he spoke as calm as Janet Frasier would of her patients, as if he was trying to diagnose himself. Daniel wanted to say something, anything that might give Skaara comfort, but before he could think of anything the boy continued talking. 

“It’s like he’s dead. You told me once, about a cart, asked me if it was still the same if all its parts would be replaced. It feels like that. Like … so much has changed in me, I’m not Skaara anymore.” 

Daniel had to smile while Skaara recounted the meager lessons he’d given the boy in philosophy. He’d had to restate Theseus’s ship a bit—what strange concept was a ship when one knew nothing but sand?—but he’d had to tell it. After Ra was gone … when Daniel had made the decision to stay behind on Abydos he’d thought of Sha’re, true, but he’d also thought of more. The others—Jack, the soldiers, everyone but him—Daniel didn’t think they’d truly understood what they had done. They’d seen in Ra’s defeat nothing but a dead body floating up in the sky, but it had been more than that: they really _had_ slain a god. They could call the goa’uld false gods all they liked, but to the people of Abydos who’d worshiped him he had been real. And as long as they’d believed in him he’d _been_ a god, at least as real as any other god a human could believe in. And that had its implications. For three thousand years the answer to every _why_ on Abydos had led to Ra—so what now when they knew that all their culture was based on an impostor? Most of Daniel’s studies had focused on ancient Egypt, but he’d still learned enough of the rest to know that whenever in history a society’s religion had been overthrown it had seldom stayed peaceful for long. When all authority had derived from Ra—and it had; even Kasuf had been Ra’s high priest—so how easy would it be now, to argue that all authority was wrong? 

On that day when he’d made the decision to stay, Daniel had known there’d be rough times ahead, discussions, arguments, maybe even revolutions. He could not have left them alone with that. The people of Abydos would need new ways to think of this world they lived in, ones that did not depend on Ra. He was inadequate as both teacher and peacemaker, but he was the best they had, a thin straw like a lifeline to the rest of humanity’s long conversation about the world in which they lived. He’d tried his best to teach them, to offer them answers—and he’d tried, too, not to become another Christian missionary destroying yet another culture. He’d always hated those, these historical figures whose actions led to so much of history being lost, so that had been his one rule: never say what he himself believed in. Offer answers, but let them choose which ones to take. 

Well. He’d tried his best. He liked to think that Abydonian society had remained stable, and was maybe a little less authoritarian than it would’ve been otherwise. 

But what Skaara had said just now … surely it could not be right. Of course Skaara was still … hm … no … how to put this? 

“Skaara,” he said, looking straight into the boy’s eyes, “you’re still Skaara. You’re still _you._ And I think—perhaps it’ll take a while, but—eventually you’ll have that glint in your eye again when you discover something new.” He wanted to say more, but Skaara interrupted him before he could. 

“How can you say such a thing? You cannot know what it is like!” If Skaara had been calm before, then he was agitated now, almost angry. “I—never! I can never feel like that again, not when I have to burn myself to feel anything but—” 

Daniel, quiet and calm, cut Skaara off before he could say more. “You are right,” he said. “I cannot know what it is like for you. But maybe I can guess. Please. Let me tell you a story.” 

“A story?” He was shouting now, but there were new sobs beneath it. “A story! This is not like your lessons back on Abydos, Daniel, where you can tell some tale from your world to make me think! This is me!” 

“I know. But please let me tell this one. I promise it’s not just any story.” Daniel had to swallow. “This one’s about me.” He’d never really told anyone about this before. The people who knew about it—Jack, Sam, Teal’c, the General—they all knew because they’d been there. He guessed Jack must’ve written a report on it, but he’d never read it, and Doctor Frasier had excused him from writing one of his own. 

“You know what I do now, I guess. What _we_ do, me, Jack, Sam and Teal’c, traveling around planets, to learn, to meet new people, and, whenever possible, to fight the goa’uld. We once visited a planet. It was … it was much like yours, actually. A bit greener, but apart from that … the people who lived there lived in fear of their own false god, a man called Pyrus. Many things happened while we were there which aren’t important now, but … while we were there I was injured badly, but Pyrus’s daughter convinced him to heal me with the sarcophagus. Only … I kept using it. The sarcophagus, I mean, even after I was healthy, and the more I used it, the more I became … _evil_.” The word seemed almost childish, but Daniel could not describe it any better. “At the end there was little difference between me and a goa’uld. When the others dragged me back to Earth to save me, I … I was angry. I could’ve killed them for it. I almost _did_ kill them. I became violent, tried everything to get back to that planet.” 

For a moment Skaara kept silent. “So?” 

Daniel sighed. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy, Skaara, going back to feeling normal. What happened to you is very different from what happened to me, but … in the days after coming back, I couldn’t imagine I’d ever be the old Daniel Jackson again. I wanted nothing but go back to lie in the sarcophagus again, nothing else was important or even _thinkable_. And yet … maybe I’m not precisely the same person I was before. But I’m close enough so that, to me, it feels like being me again. I still sometimes think of it, but … it’s over now. Past. Would you have noticed it, if I hadn’t told you?” 

“I—no.” 

“What I’m trying to tell you is, I think, this: maybe you won’t ever be free of it. You’ll probably never forget it, and maybe you’ll never be quite the same as you were before. But you can get close. You can forget it, maybe not forever, but for a time. It may seem impossible now, but you can learn to live with it.” 

Skaara looked at him. “I don’t think I can,” he said at last. His anger was gone now, and only sadness left. “I would love to, but I don’t believe I can ever do that. I don’t think I can be strong enough.” 

“You _can,_ ” Daniel told the boy. “I _know_ you can. Should I tell you why I know it? Look at you. How old are you now? How old were you, when you killed your god?” 

“I only helped you,” Skaara protested. 

“Yes, but … without you there we would have failed. Ra would still live. And you _did_ kill Ra, Skaara; maybe you didn’t send the bomb up but you killed him in your mind if nowhere else. You’d met us only a few days before, remember? Do you know how many others would’ve denied the proofs like Kasuf did, how many would’ve preferred to do nothing? But you! You took one look at the inscriptions, and the next day you took a gun to Ra’s assembly. Do you know how hard that is, to go against everything you’ve ever learned? Not many would’ve done that.” 

The boy was unconvinced. “That was all before. The old Skaara.” 

Daniel had to disagree. “It’s still you. This ‘old Skaara’ was captured and used as a host, and—” 

“—And then he died.” 

“ _No._ He fought every day, used even the slightest chance to his advantage. When Klorel tried to kill us it was Skaara who held him back and saved us. When Klorel showed weakness even for a moment he used it to call for help. After three years of _torture_ —” Daniel spat the word out, as if any emphasis could capture the horror of what the word tried to describe “—with barely a moment’s notice he fought for his life at the triad. He never gave in. And now here he sits beside me.” 

“I—” Silently, Skaara struggled to find words. “I wanted to,” he said at last, “I _wanted_ to give in. It would’ve been so easy. Just … lean back, stop fighting, and not care anymore.” 

“But you never did.” 

“I was so _tired._ I still am. Not … I do not long for sleep, but I still feel tired.” 

“You have all the time in the world. Take it. Actually …” Daniel got an idea. A crazy idea, but maybe it would help. “Take however long you need. And … if it’s easier for you, I’m sure you could go to Earth before you go back home. Just … time off.” 

“Time off?” 

“Yeah. Just … do whatever you want. Don’t think of Klorel, or the goa’uld, or even of your home, just … I don’t know, do something you like. Travel around a bit, maybe.” 

And then there it was, the glint in Skaara’s eyes. “Through the gates? With you? And O’Neill?” Suddenly he was breathless, excited. 

“I … _maybe_ … ” Skaara’s face fell. Daniel hadn’t thought this trough, had he? “I don’t know if the General would agree to that. I was thinking more like … you’ve never been on Earth, right? There’s a lot of stuff to see if you’d like. Or … there was that planet once. Cimmeria. A safe planet; the Asgard protect it. If I can convince Jack then I’m sure he’d be able to convince the General to open the gate that one extra time …” 

Daniel’s voice trailed off; he had to stop before he promised anything impossible. But Earth … he would be lying if he said he’d never longed to be back there during his time on Abydos, would be lying if he said he’d never wanted to introduce this world which had been his home to his family, to Skaara, to Sha’re, even to old stubborn Kasuf … 

Next to him, Skaara had sunken into thought. “These planets,” he said at last. “Your Earth, and … Shi—Simmeria, too … they are free of goa’uld? Have never known them?” 

“On Cimmeria they are … they _were_ only legend.” And who’s fault had that been, that he now had to put this sentence into the past? “But on Earth … Ra ruled there, once, but that was three thousand years ago, maybe more. Except us few who go through the Stargate no one there knows of it. The goa’uld aren’t even really legends any more, no one has believed they even exist in a very long time, they’re just … old things. Not more important than any other age-old tale. So … I guess it’s as free of them as anywhere can be.” 

“And safe?” 

“As safe as we can make it.” 

“Yes,” Skaara said, “I know, I was there when Klorel … I saw you, I—I remember how I feared you would loose, and how I hoped you would succeed in killing me.” For a moment he stared into some vast and unseen distance. Daniel hoped he’d not overwhelmed him; it must be hard, he thought, to suddenly make decisions about one’s future when for the last three years any decision-making had been confined only to dreams. 

Finally Skaara spoke. “Yes,” he said, “I _would_ like to visit. I feel that I have to. Your world is a mystery to me, Daniel, and it was to Klorel also. I have to see how people live without any gods.” 

“Actually,” Daniel had to correct him, “most of us don’t live without gods.” 

“But you said—” 

“I said there were no goa’uld, not that there were no gods. Even without physical evidence, people can still choose to believe in gods.” 

“But then, without … how do people believe in stories, or in gods which they have never seen? What about you, Daniel? Do you believe in such a story-god?” Suddenly the confusion in Skaara’s voice had made way for something more vicious, something that sounded almost like anger, or fear of a betrayal. “What about O’Neill? Does he believe in anything like that?” Maybe to him, Daniel thought, every god must still sound like tyranny. 

He was careful with his answer. “Gods can be kind, too,” he told Skaara, “not all have to be like Ra.” 

The boy scowled. “Maybe not made-up ones.” 

“But if you want to know about Jack, you’ll have to ask him if he tells you. And as for me—no, I will not tell you.” 

“But why not? Maybe then I could understand better.” 

“Because if I tell you now which god is my God then you’ll hold one above the others and not take the others seriously. And if you really do go to Earth, then you should learn about it from other people, still unbiased. I do not want to take that away from you.” 

Skaara sighed. “Your stupid rule.” 

“I do try to stick to it.” Except saying that felt like lying, or maybe like hiding. _Because_ _since your sister’s death I am no longer sure what I believe in._

“Sometimes I do not understand you, Daniel. But I will go to see your world, and then maybe I can learn.” 

“I’ll talk to General Hammond about it.” 

“Thanks.” 

“It might take a while,” Daniel warned him. Ah, bureaucracy. On Abydos Nagada was still small enough to survive without it, but on Earth Skaara would need a passport, or at least some kind of ID … he’d have to get clearance for leaving the base at least, someone would have to explain him some cultural basics, he’d have to be fitted with a fake backstory, be sworn to secrecy, sign non-disclosure agreements … hm … did the United States accept signatures written in hieratic, a script almost three thousand years dead until Daniel had revived it? If Kasuf issued a birth certificate for Skaara, would the US accept it? Strictly speaking Abydos could be seen as sovereign; it was certainly no longer anyone’s colony, but … 

Well, they’d somehow mangled through all that for Teal’c, so there had to be a way. 

“Then I will wait. You said I had time.” 

“Yes.” 

With that the conversation ran itself out; for a moment neither said anything. Slowly the tension bled out of Skaara’s body; he snuggled closer to Daniel again, who put his hand back around the boy’s shoulders. 

After a while Daniel noticed that Skaara was fiddling with his hands, holding one inside the other, rubbing along his lower arms … 

“Are you cold?” If anything the room was hot, but if Skaara showed any signs of sickness then Daniel had better not ignore them. 

Skaara almost laughed. “No, Daniel. It’s just … ” Was he blushing? Maybe he feared that whatever it was would sound silly. Or he’d just remembered he was still naked, that could be, too. Downsides of being culturally adaptive: sometimes Daniel simply categorized things away which others might feel were important. 

“I’ve not … it’s … hard to explain, really, but … I want to touch things. Feel things. Use my fingers. I’m not sure if I’d be strong enough to run around, but … I want to _move_. Just … move my own muscles again, I’m not used to it anymore.” Daniel remembered how earlier his hands had shivered while using the lighter. 

For a while Daniel watched him trying to coordinate his movements. 

“It’s frustrating,” Skaara told him finally, “it feels so useless. I don’t shiver—” he held one hand still for Daniel to see “—but when I try to move it somewhere …” Skaara spread his fingers out, then moved both hands towards each other as if aiming to make each fingertip touch another— 

But they missed each other, just slightly. Skaara sighed. “It’s like one hand does not know about the other.” 

“You’ll get better at it.” 

“I hope so. Maybe if I do something more work-like, something that’s not just fiddling …” 

“Something more clearly defined?” 

“Yes.” 

Daniel considered this. 

“Actually …” he had an idea. Possibly a stupid one, but he thought it might be worth trying. “Um, hello? Computer? How does this work, can I just talk or …” 

The computer’s voice was neutral, the factory pre-set: 

< _Apologies, but this language cannot be understood_ >

“What? Oh!” Now that Daniel thought about it, a computer which understood standard goa’uld Egyptian might be conceivable, but one which understood the thick accent of Abydos was stretching it a bit. “Sorry,” he tried again in English, “is this better?” 

“Yes.” 

“Ah, good. Okay, so … can you just turn the lights off?” 

< _Safety measures do not allow me to turn off emergency signaling systems_ >

“Everything else off, then?” 

< _Understood_ > Except for a small light pointing to the exit, the room went dark. 

“Okay, and now maybe just one light behind us …” it went on, casting huge shadows of Skaara and Daniel onto the wall in front of them. 

“Great.” Daniel held up both his hands together and let them cast a bird’s shadow flying up and down the wall. 

Skaara watched, fascinated like a child. “How …” He tried to imitate it. 

“Like this,” Daniel told him, gently adjusting Skaara’s grip, “One thumb around the other, so each hands guides the other, and then …” 

The boy got it quick, and before long Daniel’s peaceful little dove found itself chased by a hungry hawk up and down the wall, first right, then left; Daniel’s bird tried to flee further except— 

Suddenly both birds were gone. They’d been so focused on the dancing shadows that neither had noticed how their hands had gotten tangled up; they both almost fell over. But that was fine, Daniel thought; he was laughing, and Skaara was as well. 

“I almost got you,” the boy told him. 

“Only _almost._ Computer, lights on again, please!” 

“It was unfair! You cheated, you made sure I could not follow you!” 

“But isn’t that what fleeing is _supposed_ to be?” 

Daniel had meant it to mean nothing, but suddenly their simple goofing around had come dangerously close to the world outside. 

“Maybe …” Skaara allowed, and his voice had become more somber again. For a while he sunk deep into thought. “Sometimes,” he said at last, “it is im—no, I think it is _always_ possible. But sometimes it’s not something one should do.” 

“Skaara, I didn’t—” 

“I could’ve fled, I think. Just … if I had stopped caring, accepted the demon, maybe that would’ve been like fleeing Him, or at least His horror. You were right, Daniel.” 

“Right with what?” 

“I am still Skaara. I must be, because I never fled, even if I do not feel like him. I … I wonder, the other hosts … how many will have given up?” 

But Daniel could not answer him. 

“Sha’re,” the boy continued, “has she—has she given up already? Is she still fighting?” 

“She—” Suddenly Daniel had to fight for every word. “She never gave up, Skaara. She always fought.” 

Skaara smiled. “I knew she would,” he said, “but it is good to hear your confirmation. My sister will never—did … ” he stopped. “Did you say _fought_?” 

Daniel’s world ran into a wall. How could he not know? Had word not yet reached Apophis of his own queen’s death? Had Apophis not told Klorel for fear of appearing weak before a power-hungry son? 

“Daniel, is she—” 

“Dead,” he croaked. “She’s dead, Skaara. I saw her die.” For a moment then he could say nothing; it took all his strength to continue. “But she never gave up. She told me. The last few moments … those were hers. The last few moments of her life, she was in control. And even before that …” 

Was it still he who held the boy, or was the boy now holding him? But he had to tell him, Daniel knew; Skaara had a right to hear it. So he did, told his wife’s story as far as he could know it, from how they’d found her on Abydos, then of Apophis’s forbidden plans with the Harcesis—so secret that not even Klorel, and therefore Skaara, had ever learned of it—to that last message she had given Daniel while Amaunet had tortured him, of Teal’c fatal shot, and finally he told him how they’d buried her on Abydos. 

“I am glad,” Skaara said when Daniel had finished. “I would be more happy if she were alive, but I am also glad that for her, at least, there was an end. And I am glad, too, that she returned home, even in death. It is more than I ever expected for me before the triad.” 

“You are not angry?” 

“I am very angry. But no more now than I was before. Teal’c … I am angry at this universe which made him choose, not him.” 

Daniel nodded. 

“Will I meet Teal’c?” Skaara asked, “Apophis hates him. Klorel did, too. I would like to know him.” 

“Sure; he’s waiting outside with the others. I can send him in if you like, though I guess Jack will want to be next after me.” Daniel looked the boy up and down. “You should probably get some clothes on first, though.” 

“What—oh. Yeah. Probably. I—I will have to remember that again. How did you do that? Computer?” 

< _Listening_ >

“I like this; the goa’uld did not have such a system.” Skaara switched from fluent Egyptian into rougher English “Computer, can you get me some clothes?” 

< _Which size would you prefer?_ >

“Just … something that fits?” 

< _And which style of clothing?_ >

“Um … just … normal? Not goa’uld?” 

< _Please stand by while inquiries are made with the medical staff_ >

For a moment Skaara stared at the wall. “Requires a lot more talking than I would’ve thought,” he said at last. 

Daniel shrugged. “So, who should I send in next?” 

The boy hesitated, then said with a slowness that only those who know their own deciding is a privilege can have, “O’Neill. I have longed to see him again ever since I saw him last. I need to talk to him, and I long to ask him if he—” 

< _A suitable set of clothing was found and is currently being delivered. Thank you for your_ _patience. If you require further assista—_ >

“No!” 

For a moment they both sighed, annoyed. 

“Skaara?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Go easy on Jack, okay? Don’t overwhelm him.” Usually that wasn’t easily done, but Skaara could be intense. The boy’s initial admiration for this stranger from a strange world had grown first into fiercer adoration, and then when Ra was dead and Jack was gone Daniel had watched it turn first into longing and then into a devotion so intense that Daniel had worried Jack’s idol might end up replacing the long-since shattered ones of Ra. By now he knew that he’d been wrong; what Skaara had for Jack was not worship but simpler, stronger love for him who had first shown him a world outside of Ra. So maybe there was no reason to fear. But still … Abydos was not shaped by the same ideas as Earth’s America, and love might well mean different things to each. “Remember that he is not from your planet, and also that he is not me.” 

“I know.” The boy smiled. “He is slower.” 

Daniel almost laughed at that. “Well, don’t confuse him too much. But if something _does_ confuse him, please tell me, I’d love to hear it.” _I’ll add it to the book,_ he thought. He’d not thought of _the book_ in ages; it had seemed so unimportant for so long. He’d thought about it often when he’d lived on Abydos, the hypothetical book which he would’ve written about this planet and its people had he had sufficient paper. Whenever he’d noticed some peculiarity; in his mind he’d added it to _the_ _book_. 

Maybe it was time to finally write it. 

And at some point, he thought, he’d have to coach both Jack and Skaara on the differences which separated their respective cultures. Otherwise there were some things he could imagine blowing up. But not now; there was still time for such things later. All the time there ever could be. 

For now, Skaara deserved nothing more but the simple joy of seeing Jack O’Neill again. 

“I’ll send him in,” he told the boy, then stood up and went towards the door. 

“I will see you again?” Even tone-deaf Daniel could hear the hint of barely-hidden fear and desperation within Skaara’s voice. 

He smiled. “You will.” 

(outside, he almost fell over the nurse who’d fetched Skaara’s requested clothes) 

**Author's Note:**

> Do you know that feeling when, suddenly and without warning, you suddenly fall back into obsession with a show you have not watched in years? Because that is what just happened to me. I have not been into Stargate for years (I hope the wiki has stopped me from making too many mistakes!), but I somehow stumbled across [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5578) and suddenly there I was again, my old anger about sadly underused Abydos back with me again (there would be so much to tell! Earth's oldest ally, and the first culture which had to work through its everything-we-believed-in-was-a-lie shock! Did you know that Skaara was once supposed to be a regular on SG1? They were on the right track but somehow fell off, and now we know more of the Jaffa than of Abydos!).
> 
> While writing I did a ton of research on ancient Egypt, and wondered how attitudes might have changed on Abydos during its millennia without writing (in actual history, writing was so idolised that it became almost a form of magic; it seems almost impossible to divorce the well-administrated Egyptian culture from that). I also wondered how many people there even _are_ on Abydos; we only ever meet a few, but the city we see is frankly enormous (how does it get its water? its food? I want to know!). Finally I looked up homosexuality in Ancient Egypt, a topic which appears to be criminally understudied (there are about three examples I could find).
> 
> Oh, and to answer Daniel's question: would the USA accept a signature in hieratic writing? (the cursive, i.e. hand-written form of the hieroglyphs which were used for everyday purposes, which is not to be confused with cursive hieroglyphs, which confusingly aren't cursive at all … I chose hieratic since I guess it is what improbably-fluent Daniel would be most likely to teach them: easier to write than actual hieroglyphs, but still resembling the archaic writing in the catacombs beneath Nagada). As far as I can judge, it _should_ accept them; it appears to be enough that the signature is somehow unique, it does not require that it actually be legible (and if given in a writing system a couple thousand years dead, for all intents and purposes it _is_ illegible). On the other hand, what goes in practice might be very different (does anyone know if they accept Cyrillic/Arabic/Hebrew or others?). Oh, also, I found a bunch of sites doing personality assessment based on how one's signature looks. WTF??
> 
> Anyways, I hope you liked reading this. I might write more; I have a ton of ideas about what could've happened on Abydos during the year which Daniel spent there (if you have, too, feel free to share!)
> 
> (Constructive) criticism is also always welcome.
> 
> Gazyrlezon.


End file.
